


The Butterfly Incident

by bleedforyou1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:53:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedforyou1/pseuds/bleedforyou1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur stared in amazement, a soft endearing feeling coming over him as he watched. All of the butterflies were of different colours and several seemed to hover close to Merlin’s hair and body as he sat cross-legged and laughed. He almost seemed to glow and Arthur’s heart thudded with an emotion he couldn’t name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Butterfly Incident

It had all started with the "butterfly incident" as Arthur was now calling it. Summer had finally fallen into Autumn so it was a perfect morning for the hunt, and Arthur had been feeling particularly overworked from the fact that he was now acting King while his father fought his own moral delusions. As the Prince was falling asleep the night beforehand, he had decided he needed a day away from the castle. Arthur had not contacted any of the other knights and lords that usually came hunting with him because he honestly wanted some alone time. Of course he couldn’t go alone, in case something happened, so he pulled Merlin out of Gauis' quarters at the crack of dawn with an obscenely loud "Let’s have you, lazy daisy!" 

 

The sight of Merlin tumbling off the bed in shock was deeply amusing and entirely enough reason to come all this way just to fetch his manservant when he could’ve just sent a page instead. Grumbling, Merlin had sat up and shook his head, blinking his eyes blearily, which Arthur told himself was only a little bit adorable. Then again, almost everything Merlin did was just a little bit adorable. 

 

_ Shut up,  _ Arthur thought to himself as he looked around Merlin’s room. “I can’t quite grasp how you go about living in a hovel like this, _Mer_ lin.” 

 

“I can’t grasp why you’re such a prat,” Merlin was muttering as he stood up and stared at Arthur. The insolence was just now of Arthur’s daily routine so he let it pass. “What’re you doing here? Awake? What’s going on?”

 

“We’re going on a hunt and I’d like to leave within the hour. _You_ need to go saddle our horses, get food, dress me in my warmer clothes, and make sure to pack my good boots—it rained a few nights ago and I don’t want to go slipping around. Oh, and bring two daggers, my sword with the green stone in the hilt, my crossbow and… you should probably bring extra blankets because supposedly it’s getting colder in the nights and I don’t want you chattering while I’m trying to sleep. Got it?”

 

Merlin simply stared at him with the most idiotic look on his face and Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. 

 

“Do you need me to write it _down for you_?” 

 

“I’ve got it. Thanks,” Merlin muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at Arthur in disgust. It made Arthur slightly happier on the inside. _See, he’ll never guess how much you actually like him_. “Anything else, oh dear Sire?” 

 

“Oh, I like the way you addressed me; you should call me that more often!” Arthur smirked, feeling in better spirits already. “Come on now, skip to it. I’d like to leave before the sun is beating down on me, you know.”

 

Merlin started moving a bit more quickly, muttering fiercely under his breath, and Arthur caught a few words such as “crazy prat” and “royal arse”.Chuckling, Arthur made his way out of the room, careful not to awaken Gaius, who was sleeping in the workshop. 

 

“I’ll go wait in my room. But don’t worry, I’ll have another servant bring me breakfast. Wouldn’t want to strain you, oh dear manservant.” 

 

Arthur ducked out before Merlin could lose his sanity and throw something at him, earning himself a week in the stocks. 

 

*

 

Once they were out riding, however, it seemed that Merlin became infinitely more cheerful. It was always like that with him; once they were out of the castle, he became instantly lighter, rambling on about the most inane topics that never ceased to make Arthur roll his eyes. Again, it was only _slightly_ cute and not at all the thing that Arthur liked most about him. Well… _no, no stop thinking about it,_ he shook his head to rid himself of _those_ thoughts and slowed his horse down once they got into the forest. 

 

The trees seemed to sigh as they passed through them, leaves colouring beautifully and falling slowly. Autumn was Arthur’s favourite time of the year. It was as if nature was telling him that everything was going to be okay; everything would soon calm down. 

 

“I don’t understand why none of the other knights or lords came,” Merlin was saying behind him as they had slowed to a trot, Arthur’s keen senses picking up movements in the forest. “Usually they’re all dying for a chance to go out and show their crazy killing skills. It’s almost like they relish in the thought of spilling blood, which is really morbid. I mean, I understand needing food, obviously, but who actually _enjoys_ hurting poor animals that did nothing to you--”

 

“Merlin.” Arthur stopped his horse and swung himself off, gesturing for Merlin to do the same. The idiot was finally quiet as they made their way further into the forest, tying their horses up near a small brook. 

 

“Give me the crossbow,” Arthur said, holding out his hand and watching as Merlin fumbled with his pack as he handed Arthur the weapon, nearly dropping it. Sighing, Arthur grabbed it from him, going up a nearby hill and peering down. This was the same area that Gwaine had found a family of deer, and it sounded perfect for tonight’s dinner. 

 

He spent a few silent minutes poised behind a tree and peering down into the fields when he finally caught sight of a small doe coming out from behind the trees. Taking a steady breath, Arthur pulled the bow back and set his arrow in, closing one eye and aiming perfectly—

 

A rustle and a soft “Oh!” came from behind him, causing Arthur to let go of the string prematurely. 

 

Arthur’s arrow went flying in the completely wrong direction and the doe ran off quickly, surely unable to catch now. 

 

“What the hell--” Arthur was already yelling as he turned around and then stopped abruptly when he saw what caused Merlin to exclaim. 

 

The manservant was near the river, where the horses were tied up, sitting on a small rock. Around him were thousands of little butterflies, flying in lilting trails and resting near Merlin, around his body and on his shoulders. Merlin was grinning like a child, gaping in awe as he raised his hand, a bright blue butterfly coming to rest on his palm. 

Arthur stared in amazement, a soft endearing feeling coming over him as he watched. All of the butterflies were of different colours and several seemed to hover close to Merlin’s hair and body as he sat cross-legged and laughed. He almost seemed to glow and Arthur’s heart thudded with an emotion he couldn’t name. 

 

He had felt that way before around Merlin, since they had gone to Ealdor and Merlin’s relationship with Will had made Arthur testy—could they have been more than friends?—however, the feeling now seemed to magnify and escalate into something that Arthur could not wish away. 

 

“Seriously?” Arthur scoffed to hide his slowly growing panic over the _feelings_. “First the unicorn and now _butterflies_?! I’m beginning to think you actually are a girl, _Merlina_." Merlin just grinned at him in that ridiculously insubordinate way of his. “I’m not a girl, I promise. Would you like me to prove it to you, sire?” And suddenly Arthur's throat felt dry and he licked his lips, unbidden images shooting through his mind of Merlin proving his manliness to Arthur. In bed. Against the floor. _On the royal throne_. Shaking his head to dispel the forbidden images before he could go too far, Arthur simply slung the crossbow over his shoulder, huffing at the sight of Merlin playing with butterflies. “You’re such a pansy. I can’t believe you actually have butterflies all over you. It’s not even Spring!” 

 

“I’m not doing this on purpose, you know,” Merlin laughed, carefree and so _light_ , like a breath of fresh air after a long fight. Arthur twitched at the sound and started to walk back towards the hill. 

 

“Whatever, just finish playing with your little friends and set up for lunch. I’m hungry.” 

 

Arthur stalked away and looked back once to see Merlin smiling tenderly at the butterfly in his hand, his eyes unbearably soft in a way that made Arthur’s heart ache for some reason. 

 

*

 

Since the “butterfly incident” Arthur had gotten all these _feelings_. It was abnormal and completely inappropriate considering Arthur was practically King and besides, he was supposed to eventually marry a _girl_ and have babies and such, to further the Pendragon line. Plus, he had no idea of how Merlin felt about _him_. He probably would never consent to anything. 

 

Not that Arthur was asking for anything. Of course not. That would be completely unprofessional, regardless of how much Arthur wanted it. 

 

It was the _want_ that did him in, really. Arthur had grown up as a spoiled brat—he had always gotten whatever he wanted, had several women vying for his affections (even if his father had never allowed him to indulge) and he had even heard a few stable boys talking about him in a particularly lustful way, so if he wanted a boy or a girl, he could have it—he could have anything. 

 

Except, of course, Merlin. His, bumbling, clumsy, rambling, big-eared, girly manservant. He could, he supposed, just tell Merlin that one of his duties was now ‘servicing’ Arthur in bed, but Arthur would never do that to anyone. He could never ask Merlin to do something that he didn’t want to do. 

 

So, this left him with only his hand and a pilfered bottle of oil that he kept hidden between his mattresses. Arthur had worked himself into a frenzied state as he tried to think of anything _but_ Merlin when he stroked himself at night, but he found that nothing quite hit the mark like imagining that skinny pale boy underneath him. How he would writhe as he bit into that neck that Merlin always seemed to like covered by a ridiculous neckerchief. And afterwards, when he would be covered in his own mess, Arthur always imagined it was Merlin coming over and cleaning him up, kissing him softly and murmuring soft words and stolen touches.

 

And then, the stupid butterfly incident had awoken some sort of crazy _longing_ in Arthur. He wanted to see Merlin look at him in that endearing way, to hold him and glow when he touched him, and… _oh, now who sounds like a girl?!_

 

He was thinking about this whole situation as he watched the new knights training on the field. Sir Leon and Lancelot were now tussling about in a friendly game of sword-fighting, as Sir Leon taught him when to push through the opponent’s defences and when to back down. He looked over to see the object of his fantasies fixing the new swords on a rack while simultaneously cheering on Lancelot. His eyes were bright and the sun glinted off his cheekbones, making Arthur’s mouth water with want. 

 

“Merlin,” Arthur called, just to relish in the feeling of the man looking over at him, his whole attention on him, and him alone. “Where’s my other sword? This one is annoyingly dull—you obviously didn’t sharpen it enough.”

 

He watched as Merlin huffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up his other sword and came towards Arthur. As he handed it to him, Arthur couldn’t help but brush his fingers over Merlin’s, before pulling away. 

 

“Sire!” Sir Leon called. “You should come show Sir Lancelot how you do the three-step-cut!” 

 

Lancelot smiled at him, eager to learn a new sword trick, and Merlin seemed to sigh contentedly. 

 

Arthur felt a pang go through him. Merlin didn’t want Lancelot did he? Because if so, that would be much too painful for him, since Lancelot was truly in love with Guinevere—he had told Arthur so during their last trip to the tavern.Plus, Merlin couldn’t… Well, he _could_ , since Arthur had heard of many esquires and servants falling into bed with Knights _._ But Arthur didn’t like the thought of Merlin being with anyone else. It was selfish and strange and Arthur didn’t know what to do with this newfound protectiveness he felt over Merlin. 

 

“What?” Arthur asked, turning to Merlin. “Why are you smiling like that?” 

 

“Nothing,” Merlin laughed. “I just—I like watching Lancelot fight. He’s fitting in so well with all of you, even though he has no noble blood. He’s really good, you know.” 

 

And now, it seemed as if jealousy ran through Arthur’s veins at the thought of Merlin fancying Lancelot. He could not let this happen. Not because he was selfish, but because… well, he couldn’t let Merlin get hurt or anything like that. 

 

“He’s all right. I’m better though,” Arthur blurted out. Instantly he realised how childish and arrogant that sounded. Merlin, who always picked up on those things, snorted and shook his head. 

 

“Whatever you say, sire,” he replied, stiffly handing Arthur his shield and moving to stand behind the sword rack again. 

 

Arthur bit his lip, mentally berating himself. He walked over to where Lancelot was standing and proceeded to show him his favoured sword stragety. The new knight picked it up within minutes and was already using it against Sir Leon, grinning as he did so. 

 

“Would you like to fight him, sire?” Leon asked, as he knew that Arthur enjoyed beating the new knights a few times to really motivate them. 

 

“No; Lancelot may beat me, and we can’t have that, now can we?” Arthur said, laughing.

 

The rest of the knights stared in surprise—Arthur _never_ backed down from a fight, let alone said someone could be _better_ than him. It was a show of humility that he rarely gave in to.

 

Arthur backed away and felt a sort of pride as he watched them continue their fight; these were his men— _his_ knights. When he looked over at Merlin, the man seemed to smile in approval, though he quickly turned back to the swords to hide it.

 

Since then, Arthur found himself doing increasingly out of character things, just to get Merlin to smile at him like that. It was becoming ridiculous, really. 

 

A few days later, he was walking down the corridor with Merlin, and when they turned the corner, Arthur bumped into a maid who was holding a heavy basket of laundry. Arthur nearly shouted at her as the basket landed on his big toe, but he caught one look at her terrified face and knew that Merlin would never have yelled in this situation. 

 

Instead, Arthur bit back his snarl, moving his throbbing foot back and stepping away. 

 

“I- oh, I’m s-so sorry, my l-lord” the girl was stuttering softly, looking down, as if she were about to cry. Arthur felt his eyes widen and he looked over at Merlin, who, being a crier himself, surely knew how to deal with such a situation. 

 

“Mary, it’s okay,” Merlin said, bending down to help her pick up the laundry that had fallen when the basket toppled over Arthur’s foot. “He’s not going to have you beheaded for dropping some laundry.” 

 

“I should’ve been paying more attention,” she whimpered as she picked up the last clothes. “I’m so sorry, sire. It’ll _never_ happen again--”

 

Merlin looked up at him, raising his eyebrows in a clear indication that he should say something reassuring, but Arthur had no idea what to say. 

 

“Erm.” Arthur cleared his throat. “It’s quite all right. No blood, no foul...As long as you’re not hurt?” 

 

Both Merlin and the girl stood up quickly, staring at Arthur. “Yes, sire. I’m all right, thank you so much.” She smiled brilliantly and walked off in the opposite direction. 

 

And when Arthur looked over at Merlin, he was smiling that soft smile again, almost the exact one that he gave to the butterflies. It was glorious and perfect and Arthur felt wretched. 

 

*

 

“This can’t go on, Hildroggen,” Arthur told his mare as he carefully brushed her sleek mane. While there were several stable boys in the Knight’s stables, Arthur had been brushing Hildroggen’s mane since he was a youngster just learning the reigns. His father had always taught him that if you treated your horse with special care, they would fight for you even harder on the battlefield. 

 

Plus, sometimes, Arthur thought the horse was the only one he could confide fully in without getting hurt or betrayed in the process. 

 

“It’s not that I’m in love with him or anything,” Arthur quickly told the horse. “It’s just… well, I’ve never _felt_ anything like this before and it sounds a lot like what I read in Geoffrey’s books. Those scripts always spoke of seeing light in their beloved’s eyes and wanting to be around them all the time. Which, I guess, I do for Merlin. But he’s _not_ , I repeat, _not_ my beloved. That would be absurd.”

 

The horse simply chewed on a sugar lump and flicked his ears. 

 

“So that’s why this can’t go on. He can’t be my servant anymore. It’s for the best, you see? If I get time away from him, surely all of this madness will stop. It’s not like he’s the best servant ever either. He still drops my things and forgets to do half of his chores _and_ he’s so insubordinate. Calls me a prat and clot-pole all the time. How rude of him, right? Yet, I never say anything. It’s just that it’s so cute sometimes. Ye Gods, I’ve turned into _such_ a girl! See, this is why I can’t let this go on. So…I’m going to fire Merlin.” 

 

*

 

Life rarely ever went according to Arthur’s plans, so he wasn’t all _that_ surprised when the firing-Merlin-plan didn’t work. 

 

Several of the knights were itching for a hunt, so Arthur and Merlin packed up and a party of seven rode off into the forest a few days later. 

 

Arthur had planned his words very carefully the night before, trying his best to sound comforting and resolute at the same time. He said them over and over again to his candle, pretending it was Merlin’s glowing smile, but it didn’t quite catch the same significance. All the same, Arthur thought he could handle this. He had killed warriors and magical beasts, fought in tourneys and melees and come out relatively unscathed. He could definitely fire his manservant. Even if he was rather besotted with the idiot. 

 

That evening in the woods, they retired for the night after catching a few deer and one boar. In Arthur’s own tent, Merlin was undressing him and Arthur decided solemnly that it was time. 

 

“Is something wrong, sire?” Merlin was asking. “Usually you love hunting, but today you were scowling and you didn’t even kill anything.” 

 

“Merlin, I need to speak with you on a very important, delicate matter.” 

 

Merlin froze in the middle of tying Arthur’s shift laces and stared at him. “Erm. Yes, my lord?” 

 

“You--” Arthur took a deep breath. He hadn’t planned to do this when Merlin was standing so close, when his bright blue eyes were staring at him like that—as if they could see Arthur’s future. “Go sit down. Over there.”

 

Merlin went over and practically sprawled on the floor next to Arthur’s makeshift bed, causing Arthur to twitch in uncertainty. Could he really survive it if Merlin wasn’t around him all the time? If he didn’t sleep on the floor next to him when they went out on hunts? If he didn’t wake him up in the mornings with a wide grin or spout out insane rambles whenever they were riding? How would it feel if someone else were to dress, undress and wash Arthur? 

 

Shaking off his horrid thoughts, Arthur went and sat on the bedroll, a few feet away from where Merlin was slouching and staring at him nervously. 

 

“I think that perhaps…” Arthur sighed, unable to finish his sentence. He had forgotten almost everything he had rehearsed the night before. “Look. It’s not that you’re a bad servant or anything, well, I mean, you kind of _are_ , but it’s just… I think we’ve gotten too, well, not _too_ … that is to say, I don’t think you aren’t deserving of such an esteemed position, not that you’ve ever appreciated it, but maybe, you could… do something else for a while?” 

 

His stupidity knew no bounds, apparently—it was probably from all the time he spent around Merlin these days. He had stumbled through his words and ended the speech with a question, something that no King would ever do—especially when discussing something with a _servant_. 

 

“I’m… confused, sire… What are you asking me to do?” Merlin asked softly, raising his eyebrow and tilting his head slightly. Arthur shivered inside as the candlelight hit Merlin’s face perfectly and he seemed to _glow_ again. 

 

“Just—oh Gods, just forget it,” Arthur spat out, frustrated beyond belief at himself and his stupid situation. “Go to bed, Merlin. Forget I said anything.”

 

“Erm, okay,” Merlin said, shrugging and pulling his jacket off, going over to lay down on his own bedroll, a less soft and more haggard-looking one than Arthur’s. Sometimes Arthur wondered how Merlin got any sleep at all on that thing. He’d offer Merlin to share his own but— __

__

_ Oh this is what got you into this mess in the first place,  _ Arthur thought to himself angrily. He stood up and pulled on his boots, grabbing his sword. 

 

“Sire?” Merlin asked, sitting up and staring at him. 

 

“Go to sleep. I’m going for a walk and I’ll be back in a bit,” Arthur growled as he left the tent and closed the flap so that none of the wind would get in. Merlin had such a delicate nature, no need to get him sick on top of everything else.

 

He watched as several knights drank ale near the fire and told legends while others wandered back into their tents for rest. A few nodded at him respectfully as he passed; they knew he sometimes like to go for a walk at night in the forest. 

 

Arthur trailed through the brambled path when he eventually reached a small creek, similar to the one that the butterfly incident had happened near, a week ago. It was in a completely different forest, more to the east of Camelot, but it was enough to make Arthur sit down near the bank, pushing one hand into the water and cupping some into his palm. He splashed some onto his face, clearing his mind a bit. 

 

With a sigh, he sat back against one of the large boulders and contemplated how he had gotten to this point. It was all Merlin’s fault, really. The boy had clumsily fallen into Arthur’s life and changed his views on nearly everything. Arthur had had more arguments with his father, more odd magical adventures, more near-death experiences and more twists of fate than ever since Merlin had come into the picture. 

 

Thinking about all of this, Arthur was startled when something flickered in his preferial vision. He turned his head to the side and blinked when he saw… no, it couldn’t be. 

 

For gods’ sake. A butterfly. Really? 

 

Arthur rolled his eyes as the butterfly came closer, but then flew away, of course not landing anywhere near him. He wasn’t _Merlin_ , obviously. However, the next time it flew his way, it actually did get near enough. 

 

A pang of anger went through Arthur and he used his highly toned reflexes to lean up and catch it. It was almost ridiculously easy to catch the silly thing and Arthur brought his gloved hand closer, opening it to see the winged creature sitting in his palm. 

 

“Can _you_ tell me the secret to Merlin, little butterfly?” Arthur muttered before opening his hand fully and letting it fly off again. 

 

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the rock. Perhaps he’d allow Merlin to fall asleep before he’d go back to the tent as to diffuse a bit of the awkwardness. 

 

*

 

And suddenly, almost as if he were falling literally into the dream world, Arthur’s mind was full of strange dreams. But they seemed almost too _real_ to be dreams. 

__

_ “Arthur! Arthur, you royal prat! Wake up!” Merlin was pleading next to him, tears falling from his face. “I need you to wake up!”  _

__

_ Arthur could feel the arrow digging into his back. The scene was ultimately familiar—they had been running away from bandits and Merlin had said that the arrow never pierced his skin. It sure as hell hurt like it did.  _

__

_ Just then, Merlin was saying something in Arthur’s ear—in a language Arthur didn’t understand—and there was more crying and then everything faded to black.  _

__

Scene after scene of these moments came rushing to Arthur’s mind, moments where he never fully was paying attention to what Merlin had been doing when Arthur’s back was turned. What he was _saying_ , the way his voice went deep and something astonishing and _not normal at all_ happened. 

 

He felt himself tumble into another moment, but it was not a memory, more of a dream this time. He was in a dark cave, somewhere underground. He was about to call out, but no one was there. There was a rustling of wings and a rattling of chains and he heard Merlin’s voice talking to someone as well. 

 

A deep rumbling voice came from inside of Arthur’s mind, saying the same words over and over again. 

 

“You and the young Pendragon are two sides of the same coin.” 

 

“Your destinies are entwined… you must protect the prince until he gains his rightful place in the throne… together, you will unite all of Albion…” 

 

Arthur felt as though he were collapsing, but it was more like waking up—the clarity of everything making him blink open his eyes to a new world.

 

*

 

His mind was racing as he sat up from the strange dream-like trance he was in. Merlin was magic. Merlin was a sorcerer! All those times he had saved Arthur’s life—he wasn’t a complete buffoon or just a manservant—he was a warlock that was charged with being Arthur’s guardian!

 

How stupid could he be? How could Arthur have missed these things? All those hurtful accusations that he wanted to throw at Merlin seemed to crumble away at the thought of Merlin nearly killing himself, time and time again, just to protect Arthur. 

 

No wonder he never quit being Arthur’s servant, no matter how badly Arthur treated him. He could’ve just snapped his fingers and turned Arthur into a newt, but he never did. 

 

Merlin, it seemed, was more of a man than Arthur would ever be. 

 

*

 

It occurred to Arthur, as he was tip-toeing back into the tent and closing the flap, that perhaps the _butterfly_ had shown him these things. Could it be possible that the winged creature was enchanted? If so, how could Arthur know that this was truthful? That Merlin really was magic?

 

As Arthur laid down in his bedroll and turned to look over at Merlin, he was struck by how innocent he looked in his sleep. The small amount of light coming in from the fires outside seemed to fall perfectly on his cheekbones and it just made him seem young and so vulnerable—not like a scary warlock at all. 

 

And then, when Arthur watched him long enough, he gasped in shock. 

 

That old warlock, with the long white hair and beard—what was his name? Ah, yes, _Dragoon_. He seemed so familiar when Arthur had seen him—it couldn’t be… it was _Merlin!_

 

Reeling from the aftershocks of all these discoveries, Arthur simply lied back and waited until morning. In the morning, he would not hesitate to ask Merlin what in the bloody hell he was thinking, using magic under the King’s nose like that. What if he had been caught? Arthur would’ve had to see him burned at the stake! 

 

And Arthur could not, under any circumstances, watch Merlin die. 

 

*

 

When morning actually did come, however, Merlin was gone—up and out of the tent before Arthur could properly wake up. 

 

Struggling to put his clothes on, Arthur went out and looked for the boy, seeing him laughing with the other servants as they readied breakfast for the knights and Arthur. He watched as Merlin tied his neckerchief around his neck tightly, shivering slightly from the cold morning air. 

 

Arthur frowned. Why was it that Merlin was never wearing warm-enough clothing? Briskly going back into his tent, he dug around his bag for one of his thicker shifts, throwing it onto Merlin’s bedroll. The idiot may be a super powerful warlock, but of course he didn’t use his magic for anything _useful_ , like clothing for example. 

 

_ Ye gods,  _ Arthur thought to himself. _I sound like I’m perfectly fine with him using magic_! 

 

Which, if was honest with himself—and Arthur usually _was_ honest with himself—he didn’t _really_ mind that Merlin was magic. It just bothered him that he never trusted Arthur enough to tell him about it. 

 

_ Obviously he couldn’t tell you! You’d have to kill him for it! _

 

The inner turmoil did not cease until after Merlin came back into the tent, holding Arthur’s breakfast. 

 

“Sire, you’re awake!” Merlin grinned. “I’ve got your breakfast here—oh, you’re dressed!” 

 

“Merlin.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “You needn’t sound so surprised by the fact that I can do things on my own. Now, go change into that thicker shift. It’s cold out there and we’ll be spending the morning in the woods.” 

 

Merlin looked over to where Arthur was gesturing and then stared back at him with wide eyes. 

 

“But— _sire_ , that’s your shift!” 

 

“Your astute observations are killing me here, Merlin,” Arthur muttered before digging into his bread. “Just do what I say and I won’t hurt you.” 

 

“Yes, my lord.” 

 

*

 

They made it back to the castle by sunset that day, and Arthur had yet to mention anything of the magic to Merlin. He didn’t know how to bring it up exactly. This wasn’t the type of conservation he had with people on a daily basis afterall.

 

_ “So, Merlin, I finally figured out you have magic. Why didn’t you tell me?”  _ Or, even worse, “ _I bloody adore you and I can’t believe you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about your magical abilities!”_ And, Arthur’s rather nasty half thought of another one: _“So, can you use magic to tie me down and have your wicked way with me?”_

__

“Sire!” Merlin suddenly called to him, bringing Arthur out of his reverie. 

 

“What is it, Merlin?” 

 

“I was trying to ask if you wanted your bath now or after dinner,” Merlin asked, walking around the room to fetch Arthur’s fresh clothes and put away the dirty ones. 

 

“After dinner,” Arthur replied. “And when you bring my dinner, bring yours as well. We can just eat in here.” 

 

“Erm, sire, I—“

 

“Just do it, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, going over to the partition with his clothes. 

 

*

 

He waited impatiently, drumming his fingers against the table in a way that would’ve had his father scowling if he were here. Merlin was taking ages to get dinner and Arthur was not only hungry, but also irritated by his own personal demons.

 

“They had extra cheese!” Merlin said as he walked in without knocking. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat up, watching as Merlin put the plates, wine and goblets in front of him. 

 

The meal was actually silent; Merlin must have been nervous eating with the crown prince—as he should be. No other servant had sat at Arthur’s table and had dinner with him like this. It was almost endearing to watch as Merlin ate small bites and kept looking up at Arthur. 

 

Afterwards, they sat back and sipped at their wine, Merlin’s face flushing easily from the drink. And it may have been the wine, or the warmth of the fire, or maybe just the blush on Merlin’s cheeks, but Arthur could not stand it any longer. 

 

“I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me one in return.” 

 

Merlin looked at him, startled. “How do you mean?” 

 

“If I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell anyone else,” Arthur said, determinedly _not_ biting his lip, because that would be a very un-princely thing for him to do. “And then you have to tell me a secret too.” 

 

“I don’t have any secrets,” Merlin said softly, looking away. 

 

Arthur snorted. “Don’t _lie_ to me, _Mer_ lin. I’ve known there was something about you since the day I first met you—no reason to keep up the façade.” 

 

Merlin was staring at him in shock. “Façade?” 

 

“Yes,” Arthur bit out, feeling bitter. “I would’ve thought you’d trust me enough now to tell me something as serious as—oh, just—“ 

 

Arthur stood up and walked over to his desk, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill near him. He ripped the parchment into two smaller pieces and came back to the table, where Merlin was basically twitching. 

 

“You write your secret, and I’ll write mine. Then, we’ll switch,” Arthur said, handing him the quill first. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin whispered, taking the quill nevertheless. 

 

“Because,” Arthur took a deep breath. “It is time that we have no more secrets from one another. I’m done with it—I know you’re hiding something and I’m not completely clean either. Let’s just get out with it, shall we?” 

 

He leaned down and thought for a moment, stitching his words together like fabric. It was easier to write it down then to say it, for sure. 

 

Waiting for a moment, he folded the parchment and held Merlin’s fearful gaze as they switched parchments. 

 

It was almost comical in a way—Arthur thought Merlin would simply write down something foolish, like _I spit in your food_ or some such nonsense, but in reality, it was three simple words. 

 

And it wasn’t _I have magic_. 

 

No, it wasn’t that. Not at all. 

 

It was, in fact, along the same lines as what Arthur wrote. However, Arthur had carefully written… 

 

_ I have grown to accept that I may have feelings for you that are entirely inappropriate for our places in the palace, but I cannot hide them any longer. I adore you, Merlin. And I’m sorry for calling you an idiotic waste of space. Because, you really aren’t.  _

 

But Merlin, being unlike any other that Arthur had ever met, wrote only, _I love you_. 

 

*

 

So, of course, the plan hadn’t gone off exactly as Arthur imagined it, but after they had had _relations_ in Arthur’s bed—and then in the bathtub—Arthur could not quite regret it. 

 

And, eventually, he and Merlin would talk about Merlin’s other, more dangerous, secret, but perhaps that could be left until tomorrow, when Arthur had filled his ache for Merlin’s smile and skin. Even though, deep down, he didn’t truly think the ache would ever fully go away. 

 


End file.
